I just read that tonight it’s suppose to drop to 56 degrees after a nice, refreshing cold front passes through. I am so excited about this that I am almost giddy with anticipation.
It has been so hot and sticky for the past couple of nights that I feel like I haven’t slept in a week.
To celebrate the cold front, I think I’ll run around naked in the driveway and drink it all in tonight. I hope the neighbors don’t mind.
Then I’ll take a nice nap.
A few days or weeks ago I mentioned that we were in the process of abandoning our AT&T/CallVantage service and switching back to Verizon, mainly due to difficulties we were having with the emerging VoIP technology. Well, I gave AT&T one more shot and they replaced our VoIP box and corrected the issue. The service is working *beautifully* and I couldn’t be happier.
During this slight drama, Verizon called back and told me that they couldn’t transfer my service as quickly as they had initially promised (2 days from the day I placed the order). It would take two to three weeks instead. In addition, they would need to send a technician out to the house to do some wiring. (Why, I don’t know). They told me that they could send a tech out on either August 11 or 12 between 8 and 5. I asked her which of those two dates it would be. The rather snotty woman with the strong New York accent told me that she couldn’t pinpoint the date due to scheduling so I would have to have someone home 18 years of age or older those two days to meet the tech. I informed her that as a telephone man myself, I’m sure that if they turned the dial tone on to the house, I could handle it from there. She told me that was unacceptable (and she used the term “unacceptable”) and that I would have to have someone home to meet the tech at anytime during that 16 hour window. I could not provide a cell phone number for them to contact me, I had to be home.
Martha Stewart gets an ankle bracelet, I get the threat of a Verizon tech.
I told her, very sweetly, that I would call back to reschedule after I checked my work calendar. (I hadn’t cleared the trouble I was having with AT&T at the time).
Then AT&T went ahead and fixed our service so I just spent 20 minutes trying to call Verizon to cancel our pending order.
After three attempts to call customer service and being thrown into Voice Jail twice, I finally banged on the phone buttons enough times to make the phone system have a heart attack and throw me to an agent. That’s after I had punched in my ten digit phone number three times, said “AGENT” at the voice prompt, typed in my phone number, said “FUCK YOU” to the voice prompt, announced my phone number, sexuality and had the cat meow into the phone at the third voice prompt and then typed “6” repeatedly until someone resembling a human being spoke on the other end.
Mr. David Sharpinski inquired as to why I was calling after asking me my ten-digit telephone number. (Never mind I had entered it into the keypad at three or four prompts beforehand). I told him that I wanted to cancel my pending order, and gave him the order number they had provided me when I originally called. He needed to verify my name, address and SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER. I refused to give my SSN to him, save for the last four digits. He said he needed it to look up the order. Apparently, your telephone number has nothing to do with your telephone service. Verizon would rather abuse the use of your social security number and use that. “It identifies you.” was his explanation. I responded, “Well so doesn’t my lack of hair, hot temper, height, weight, personality and loads of charm, but I don’t think that’s documented on my order, is it?” He wasn’t amused, but went ahead and cancelled the order and ended the call with “If you ever need Verizon’s services, please don’t hesitate to call.”
Moral of the story. If you can’t get your service to work properly through Verizon, don’t bother calling. Buy some string and pull some cans out of the recycle bin. It’ll be much easier.
* If you want to abandon your landline, I HIGHLY recommend AT&T/CallVantage or any other VoIP service to use over your internet broadband. You don’t get screwed with outrageous charges like the phone companies do and the customer service is much better.
I was chatting with a co-worker today, while being wildly productive at the same time I may add, about the fact that this area is really lacking in the Wi-fi/Internet café department. Yes, we have a 3/4 sized Barnes and Noble with a cute Fisher-Price coffee bar, which does offer wi-fi, but it’s not the same. There’s surly yuppies that parallel park themselves and don’t move for hours, slowly sipping on their venti whichamajoogies as if they were trying to suck water out of a stone. SLUUUUURP.
Of course, I could always go to Panera, but like many other chain establishments in this area, its gone right down the crapper in the quality department. There’s something about the chain restaurants and stores around here. It’s like the lack of culture around here takes over and all standards of quality go right down the drain. Hell, our beautiful Target now looks like an old Zayre, complete with the smell of burned popcorn. Not that I didn’t enjoy Zayre, because I did, but Target was always suppose to be more upscale than that, and here its not.
Then we have JCPenney that looks like a poor man’s Woolworth. *Loved* Woolworth back in the day, but the bargain bin approach this JCPenney is taking would make James Cash himself spin in his own grave.
I want something very trendy with free wi-fi where I can get a hot green tea frothy something and show off my Powerbook and associated smarts. I want to get hot and bothered in public on my cam, wildly teasing others with my thirst for technology and then giving them the satisfaction of heading home, leaving bystanders to wonder just what was going to happen with my Powerbook when I got there.
But no, the closest thing we have is McDonalds on a good day and that’s just not going to cut it.
It’s official. I’m have had it up to here (way above my head) with these stupid magnetic ribbons that are plastered all over the cars around here. I used to tolerate them. I used to think of our troops in Iraq and silently thank them for their contribution to the world when I saw a yellow ribbon.
Now I just want to run the fuckin’ car off the road.
The original intent of these ribbons was admirable. I thought it was a bit cheesy to buy a pre-fabbed magnet ribbon at Wal*Mart (Always White Trash, Always) and slap it on your car, but I dealt with it. Personally, if you feel that strongly about showing your yellow ribbon off, I feel you should take the time to get a piece of actual yellow ribbon and tie it around your car antenna, or your cell phones, or your neck for all I care, but you should at least make an effort. Nope, it’s grab, scan, plop, and “Look I’m Patriotic!”. At least when the original yellow ribbons were out and about, I believe during the Iran Hostage situation back in 1979 and 1980, people took actual yellow ribbons and tied them around actual oak trees in their front yards. Now that said something.
Now we have these ribbons popping up for all sorts of causes. Yesterday, I saw a ribbon that said “Autism Awareness”. How about “Help Find A Cure for Autism.” I’m fully aware that autism exists. Why be so passive? “Autism Awareness”. Don’t make people aware of it, do something about it!
Then there’s those lovely pink ribbons that say “Support breast cancer.” Well, no I don’t really support breast cancer as I came thisclose to losing my godmother to the disease. Sure, I’ll support the cause to find a cure for breast cancer, but support breast cancer itself? Not on your life. If you’re going to write something on a ribbon, please have the decency to have it make sense.
I hate to generalize about people, actually I’m lying, I love the sport, but these ribbons are like a USDA seal of “really bad driver”. These cheap imitation ribbons on a car usually indicate that the driver is going to make erratic movements, neglect the turn signal stalk on the steering wheel, talk on the cell phone and make an illegal U turn over my foot as I jay walk.
I guess in that way they’re really helpful. It’s like a little note to others, “I’m an asshat!”
I find it really ironic that these men with small penises lots of money the means to own a Hummer have the “Support Our Troops” ribbons on the back of their tanks, especially as our troops lose their lives in their real Hummers so you can drive around suburbia in your fake one.
“You don’t care.” “You’re not patriotic.” “You don’t give a damn about your country.”
That’s bullshit. Like my spiritual beliefs, I don’t need to run around bashing people over the head with my patriotism, waving an American flag and having a “W” tattoo etched into my right bicep. I’d fight for my country if she wanted me and would let me. But no, I have to tolerate these mass produced imitation ribbons.
As I type this short little blog entry, there’s an beautifully breathtaking thunderstorm in progress. The rumble of thunder is shaking the house right down to the foundation and lightning is lighting up the sky more spectacularly than any human fireworks display can do.
I love storms like these. It’s awe inspiring and humbling all at the same time. Mother Nature is reminding us who is boss.
And she does it with such a flair.
It’s not easy heading back to work after a great weekend. The weather is hot and humid again. People seem to have issue with dialing internationally today (remember, by day, I’m Mr. Telephone Man.) After dancing through the weekend, it’s like reality has slapped you across the face. The alarm clock blares and off you go into the rat race.
Last night my sister called. My Aunt Rose passed away yesterday. She’s had some health problems for the past couple of months or so and apparently her death was related to that. She went quickly in her home before the ambulance had the chance to arrive. She was my sister’s godmother. I’m happy that we had the opportunity to see her a couple weeks ago at a graduation party. She seemed happy, despite side effects from her medication. She smiled. We hugged.
I find it hard to see others at funeral services. I don’t mind seeing the deceased, as I know that they’ve already left this world and are now experiencing eternal happiness. When I look in a casket, I don’t see my relative or friend, I see what they’ve left behind. A car without the driver, if you will. I prefer closed casket services, simply because it allows me to focus on the memories instead of the body. But what I really don’t like is to to see others grieve. (Who would like it, after all?) It’s because I can’t help them. I can’t take their pain away. I want to say “They’re happy now. They’re at peace! They’re looking down upon us. They’re right here. Smile, celebrate their life and dream about them tonight. Close your eyes and listen to their whispers. Feel the eternal love they’re feeling. Give them a great big hug and tell them to give God a kiss for you.” But I never say those things. I’m afraid I’ll cross a line. Everyone has a grieving process that they go through. I must allow them the luxury of their personal journey. So I hold a hand, I hug, I mumble my sympathy, I relive some memories and I try to make them smile.
Rest in peace, Aunt Rose. Make sure God doesn’t get too sweaty.*
* inside family joke.
While Earl and I were out making new friends this weekend, we ran into a couple of guys from Buffalo. They’ve been together for a while and while were making idle chit chat, one of them mentioned that they were from Jamestown. I mentioned that I had lived in Jamestown once upon a time. Come to find out, he and I used to work together for The Resource Center.
He doesn’t work for The Resource Center anymore, but he was able to catch me up on the people I used to work with and such. It was a fabulous trip down memory lane, and I always did enjoy his company when we were working together.
I sometimes find it so amazing that people’s paths cross repeatedly in life. Absolutely fascinating!
This weekend while we were out playing with our own kind, our neighbor asked us “Why do you guys have a Mac, anyway?”
Oh. My. God.
Luckily, I was so relaxed that I didn’t start a geek tirade anyway. I simply smiled and said, “No spyware, no adware, no viruses. Ever.”
Earl and I are spending the weekend camping at Jones Pond Campground, outside of the tiny village of Angelica in New York’s Southern Tier. Its our first time at this campground, which is a campground for gay men.
I think some people are surprised that there are campgrounds for gay men. There are many across the country, with four within three hours of our home. Back B.E. (before Earl), I frequented another campground, Hillside Campgrounds in northeast Pennsylvania, with my boyfriend at the time. He had a permanent site there, with an old Airstream installed in the woods high up on the hill. It was great.
Earl and I haven’t been to a gay campground since 1997 and this is our first time at Jones Pond. I was a little bit nervous about the whole thing because that’s what I do, but my nerves were quickly dispelled once we got set up and started getting friendly with the natives. Last night we danced like we haven’t danced in years with friends from Buffalo and Rochester. It was all good.
Like Hillside, Jones Pond has many seasonal campers here. The sites are beautiful with the campground on the side of the hill in the middle of the woods. Gay campgrounds differ from others in some ways. For example, there’s a party barn with a big dance floor (complete with video screen) that pumps out high-energy dance music every Friday and Saturday night. It’s BYOB which is fine by me. There’s also a raging bonfire at the same time and since it’s a gay campground, we can actually snuggle up near the bonfire without Mr. and Mrs. Bushamerica flipping a tacky yellow ribbon over the whole ordeal. It’s also clothing optional for those so inclined and there are those that do pick up the option. (And no, I haven’t yet; the whiteness of my skin and the remaining vestiges of my childhood ginger-red hair are sometimes just too much for some to take in.)
The seasonal sites here are elaborate affairs with a judicious use of colored lights, ribbon, Christmas balls, flowers, palm trees, pink flamingos and other gay fabulosity.
It’s very relaxing in a comfortable way, and Earl and I are enjoying the whole experience immensely. We’re making new friends and just being ourselves without any need to put a guard up. This is all good.
Just a guy with a husband. We’ve been together 28 years and he still makes me see fireworks on a daily basis. Hiker. Storm Chaser. Private Pilot. Tech Guy. Hackerish.
Weird? Eccentric!
